Derealization
by leoandsnake
Summary: Iceman helps Maverick overcome Goose's death. Not as slashy as usual. Iceman/Maverick.


"How is he?" Iceman said quietly to Viper as he slipped out of the bathroom Maverick was in, bent over the sink, head bowed.

"Not good," Viper said, looking over at Maverick. "He's pretty shaken up, poor kid... We'll wait and see, though."

He patted Iceman on the arm and disappeared. Iceman sighed, slid his sunglasses on, and headed toward Maverick.

"Hey."

"Hey," Maverick mumbled, staring into the mirror in front of him unseeingly. Iceman could tell he had been crying.

"Let's go, I'll take you home," Iceman said, shifting his weight. He had never liked hospitals. The smell was like a harbinger of death, illness, tangled emotions.

"I thought Charlie was..." Maverick's voice broke and he cleared his throat. "Picking me up."

"I figured it should be me," Iceman said. Charlie hadn't shown up yet and he had no way to get in touch with her -- he knew all she could do was drop Maverick at his house to sit there in the emptiness all night, anyway. It wouldn't be prudent for an instructor to let a pilot stay at her house. Wouldn't look good.

"Okay," Maverick said, making no move to leave the sink, which he was clutching like it was tethering him to the earth.

"I'll bring my car around," Iceman said, moving toward the door.

"My clothes," Maverick said stiffly.

"They cut you out of your flightsuit while they were on the helicopter," Iceman said, clearing his throat. "They had to check... just in case there was internal bleeding or something... Viper brought some things from your locker."

"Yeah," Maverick said, nodding.

"I'll be back," Iceman said, leaving the room.

The day outside was garishly bright and beautiful. It felt mocking and nasty, and the glare of the sun made Iceman's head twinge.

Iceman started his car mechanically. It roared to life underneath him and he pulled in front of the hospital with perfect precision.

Maverick was already standing outside, squinting into the sun. He approached Iceman and slid into the passenger seat gingerly, rubbing his temple.

"You shouldn't be alone tonight," Iceman said, pulling out of the parking lot.

Maverick tugged at his hospital wristband. It didn't give.

Iceman reached over and ripped it off with one swift motion, and tossed it up. It fluttered in the breeze above the convertible for a moment, was buffeted in the air, and disappeared from view. "You can stay at my place."

Maverick looked at him curiously. "You want me to?"

Iceman opened his mouth to speak and found there was a lump in his throat. "Yeah."

--==OOO==--

* * *

--==OOO==--

"I'm just going to go... try to sleep," Maverick muttered.

"You know where the bedroom is," Iceman said.

It should have been funny, but in that moment, it wasn't.

He was gone down the hallway and Iceman was left to sit there with the ghost Maverick had brought with him.

"Damnit," Iceman growled, sitting down on the couch and staring at the white wall in front of him.

His house was neat, maybe a little ridiculously so for a bachelor, and it felt like a prison.

So Iceman began to do what he did when there was nothing he could do.

He paced.

--==OOO==--

* * *

--==OOO==--

He woke Iceman with vomiting.

Ice had gone to sleep on the couch, not wanting to bother Maverick, wanting to let him sleep as long as possible. Iceman was a light sleeper and fairly intuitive, so the moment he woke up he crept to the bedroom and opened the door quietly.

The sheets were pushed aside, soaked in cold sweat, and the bathroom door was open.

"Maverick," Iceman called out, running a hand through his blonde hair.

When he didn't receive an answer, he opened the bathroom door.

Maverick was slumped over the toilet, resting his forehead on the porcelain, his arms folded.

Iceman leaned against the doorway. "You need anything?"

"No," Maverick muttered.

Iceman nodded and closed the door.

He rarely mentioned it to people, but when he was fourteen, his brother had died. Some sort of inoperable, fast-moving cancer that had struck before any of his family had time to prepare. Iceman had spent hours in the bathroom voiding his stomach up to and after the day of the funeral.

He decided not to worry. For now.

--==OOO==--

* * *

--==OOO==--

The doorbell was ringing.

Iceman had just returned from the latest hop. Maverick hadn't gone with him; his court-martial date was a week away and he hadn't been cleared for flying yet. Ice had barely gotten a chance to change clothes when he opened the door and found Charlie standing there.

She instantly moved as if to come in. He stepped in her way.

"Let me in."

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, folding his arms.

"Let me in, Lieutenant," she insisted, trying to push him out of the way. Iceman didn't yield.

"He doesn't want to see you, Charlie."

"Has he said that?" Charlie said, brushing her hair away from her face.

Iceman locked his hazel eyes with hers. "He doesn't have to."

"Let me in!" she exclaimed, shoving at Iceman's chest.

"This is my house," Iceman said. "If you wanted to see him, why didn't you show up at the hospital? Why haven't you bothered before now? It's been a week."

Charlie gaped at him. "You stole him out of the hospital right out from under my nose! How was I supposed to --"

"Bullshit," Iceman told her. "I waited for hours."

She faltered. "I had some things to take care of. I couldn't just --"

"Uh-huh," Iceman said, steering her toward her car.

"You can't do this to me," she snapped. "I'm his girlfriend."

"A title you've done nothing to earn," he replied.

Charlie flipped him off. He waited until she got in her car and sped off before he returned to the house.

"Who was that?" Maverick murmured. Iceman hadn't even noticed him come into the living room.

"No one," Iceman said shortly, closing the door behind himself.

--==OOO==--

* * *

--==OOO==--

"Could you sleep next to me tonight?"

Iceman looked up. "Huh?"

"Just tonight," Maverick said. "One night."

"I'll sleep with you -- next to you -- if you eat something."

"I can't, Kazansky."

"You can't not eat, either. You don't have to die just because -- you don't have to die."

"I don't want to die," Maverick snapped, "I just can't eat."

He left the table and disappeared from view.

He awoke to Maverick shaking violently next to him.

"Maverick," Iceman muttered, slapping at him, only half-awake -- "Maverick, stop it... it's okay, it's just a dream --"

Maverick screamed (and it was a horrible sound to hear, instantly shattering Iceman's fugue state) and sat bolt upright.

Iceman grabbed Maverick and pulled him back to the bed. "It's fine, you're fine," he murmured.

Maverick leaned off the side of the bed and vomited into the trashcan Ice had put there a few nights ago. "No, no, no," he said, wiping his mouth, "god, there was -- I can't... he can't be..."

He lay there trembling, white as a sheet. The curtains blew a bit in the night breeze.

"It's fine," Iceman repeated, his eyelids beginning to close again.

"I can't sleep," Maverick said, tossing the sheets aside and taking a shaky step out of bed. He turned in the darkness and his eyes rolled up in his head, and then he collapsed to the floor.

"Shit!" Iceman exclaimed out of shock, bolting out of bed. He grabbed Maverick by the armpits and pulled him up. Maverick's head lolled onto his shoulder.

"Fucking hell," Iceman muttered, and after a moment, slid his other arm behind Maverick's knees so he could carry him.

Iceman set him down on the couch and pulled a sheet over him, then sat down in a chair across from him.

"I told you to eat," Iceman growled, "but you don't listen to anyone, do you, asshole... passing out on my floor at three in the morning..."

He curled up in the chair and rested his head against the back, keeping one eye open, watching Maverick breathe.

--==OOO==--

* * *

--==OOO==--

"I'll be fine," Maverick insisted.

"You can't go into a court-martial fainting and vomiting all over the place," Iceman snapped. He was tense from lack of sleep and everything seemed to be grating on his nerves.

"Maybe I don't want to go."

"You're being stupid, Mitchell, how can you be cleared for flying if you don't go to your court-martial?"

Maverick didn't answer.

Iceman raised his eyebrows. "Mitchell."

"I'm not saying I'm not going," Maverick said, his voice cracking a little. "I can't... you don't get it. I can't go up there. I can't."

Ice said nothing.

"I just want him back. He can't be gone. It's... it's all my fucking fault."

A bit of guilt twinged inside Iceman. It had been his jet wash...

"Goose died," Iceman said. "People die. It happens. People die. No one's here forever."

Maverick looked at the tabletop. There were dark circles under his eyes and he was losing weight. He hadn't shaved since he had gotten back from the hospital.

"It's tomorrow," Iceman said. "If you won't go, I'll stuff you in my trunk and drive you there. But I swear to God, Mitchell, I'm not losing my only real competition."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Maverick's face.

"Go get dressed, shave and shower," Iceman told him. "You look like shit, Maverick."

"Maybe," Maverick mumbled.

"No, you definitely look like shit."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

A few minutes later Iceman walked into the bathroom to find Maverick staring into the mirror.

He had cut his cheek badly shaving and his hands were starry with blood.

Iceman approached him tentatively and cleared his throat.

Maverick started at the noise and looked at Ice.

Iceman tore some toilet paper off the roll and began to rub the blood off of Maverick's hands.

"What you said earlier," Iceman said, "it wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. I know I said... you're unsafe up there, but you'd never -- you're dangerous, Maverick, but you're a good pilot. It was a freak accident."

He looked up into the mirror and met Maverick's eyes. "I'm sorry."

Maverick nodded slowly. "Okay."

"And I think you should go to your court-martial. I think you should fly."

"I can't --"

"I know, blah blah blah emotions. I'm done with that now. You're a good pilot, you asshole. You should fly."

Maverick stared at Iceman behind him in the mirror. "Goose is dead."

"Yeah."

Maverick took in a shuddering breath and turned to Iceman. Iceman grabbed him and held him tightly, roughly, like Maverick would break if he let go.

He kissed Maverick gently on the jawbone and nudged him. "Look. There's blood on my hands too, Mitchell."

Maverick looked down. "Yeah," he muttered, "there is."

"Go get dressed," Iceman said, pushing him out of the bathroom. "You look homeless, you're insulting my taste in men."

Maverick grinned waveringly at him as he went. "What does that say about me, then?"

A tiny bit of hope thrilled in Iceman as he watched him go.


End file.
